


Medical Emergency

by Diary



Series: Dog Saved World [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: American Sign Language, Bechdel Test Fail, Bottle Episode Fic, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Love, Medical Trauma, Natasha Romanov's Arrow Necklace, POV Clint Barton, POV Male Character, Sharing a Bed, Stark Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6412219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Agent Romanov is unwell and refusing my offer to alert Dr Banner or other medical services.” Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medical Emergency

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Avengers.
> 
> Author's Notes: I posted this after Bitterness at the Reflection, but for some reason, my fics aren't listed in order on my dashboard. Unfortunately, I don't know how to fix this.

Light floods his senses, and Clint jerks awake.

Across the room, in bright purple, the words on the console by the door read, _Apologies, Agent Barton. Agent Romanov is requesting your immediate presence._

Pushing aside the fear, Clint grabs his hearing aids and puts them in. Seeing his shirt from yesterday is on the floor, he grabs it, slips it on, and strides out. “Jarvis, what’s going on?”

“I’m unsure. Agent Romanov is unwell and refusing my offer to alert Dr Banner or other medical services.”

Natasha’s door opens as soon as he gets to it, and he can’t help but gasp when he sees her.

She’s bleeding. She’s sweating, unnaturally pale, and _bleeding_.

He’s grasping her hand and stripping her nightgown off before he fully has time to make a conscious decision. “Hey, what’s going on, Nat? Where are you hurt?”

“Everywhere,” she gasps.

The blood is coming from between her legs, but he can’t pinpoint where exactly, and he knows this isn’t a period. With S.H.I.E.L.D. still in the tentative stages of rebuilding and their own ambivalent feelings about whether they want to fully re-join or officially resign, he knows contacting them isn’t an option. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m sorry, but it’s either Banner or 911. Which do you want?”

She manages to focus enough to glare at him. “Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’."

“C’mon, Tasha,” he urges. “What do you want?”

“Whichever is closer,” she mutters.

“I’ve alerted Dr Banner,” Jarvis informs them.

He knows it’s not as long as it seems, but by the time Banner strides in, Clint’s ready to kill him and torture him and demand to know why exactly he doesn’t value Tasha’s life enough to have been here before this happened.

“Sorry,” Banner says, and then, his gloved hands are taking Tasha’s pulse and pulling her underwear down. “Barton, get her a change of clothes.”

While Banner gives instructions to Jarvis involving protocols and leans down to look between Natasha’s legs, she squeezes Clint hand. “My sports bra and biker shorts.”

“You got it, darling.” He kisses her forehead.

Tasha and Banner talk, and he follows a flying holographic ball. It hovers over the drawers containing the necessary items before disappearing once he picks up the pink bunny slippers she objects strongly to but he’s always managed to force her into wearing.

Once he gets back over to the bed, he sees the bleeding has stopped, and she’s wearing her arrow necklace. Accepting the towels Banner hands him, he helps her clean herself and slip the clothes and slippers on.

“I need to take you down to the lab, Agent Romanov,” Banner says. He puts his stained gloves in a compartment of his medical kit, rubs sanitizer on his hands, and puts a clean pair on. “I strongly advise against you walking. Do you want Agent Barton to carry you, or do you want me to get a gurney?”

Shaking her head, she reaches out for Clint’s hand, and immediately squeezing hers, he lets his other hand run through her matted curls.

“Don’t let go,” she orders.

“I won’t,” he promises. Looking over at Banner, he asks, “Could you carry her, doc?”

“If you don’t have any objections,” Banner tells her.

She nods. “I-” She laughs. “Don’t take it personally, doctor, but I’m not very fond of labs. Or doctors prodding me.”

“You’re in good company,” Banner answers. He carefully picks her up.

Her grip tightens, and Clint lets the fingers in her hair go down to her face. “Hey. I can’t think of what for, but you still owe me for something or other. Be strong, Tash, or I’m going to go into some foreign restaurant, make sure there ain’t any little girls with epi-pens, and keep ordering dishes with God knows what in them until-”

Exclaiming in pain, he just barely manages to avoid sinking to the floor.

“I will break your wrist and other things,” she calmly informs him.

“Got it. Uh, but raincheck? I think having to deal with both of us in one night might fall under ‘testing Dr Banner’s patience’.”

Banner makes a vaguely amused sound.

…

They get to the lab, and Banner sets her down on a table.

Tasha hisses, and he moves so he can wrap his arms around her.

Banner reappears with a syringe. “This is a vitamin cocktail. It has-”

“Dr Banner,” Tasha interrupts, “please, help me. If I have questions, I’ll ask them later.”

“Okay.” Banner gives her the shot.

She looks up at Clint. “I’ll be fine.”

“’Course you will,” he agrees.

“I’m going to draw some blood.” Banner positions Tasha’s arm. “Then, I’m going to do a full-body scan. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to hold Agent Barton’s hand while I do.”

“But I can stay in the room, right, doctor?”

Banner nods.

He and Tasha both exhale.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Banner orders.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Tasha answers. “I woke up with a headache and a sharp pain in my abdomen. When the lights came on, I was bleeding.”

“Have you been feeling off in any way recently?”

“No,” she answers. Then, she shakes her head, and he hates himself for not noticing whatever seemingly trivial thing there was to notice. “I had a beer at a bar earlier. It tasted funny.”

“Funny how?”

She shrugs. “I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.”

“Okay. The next questions are a little more sensitive in nature-”

“There’s no chance I’m pregnant or suffering from an STD. My periods have always been consistent and moderate. And I don’t object to Clint hearing my sexual history.”

“That’s probably not necessary,” Banner says. “I’m going to do the scan now. If you’ll take off your necklace and lie back, please. Do you need a pillow?”

“No.” Wrapping her hand around Clint’s wrist with her free hand, she gently detangles it from her hair, brings it to her lips, and kisses it. “Let Dr Banner do what he needs to.”

Accepting the necklace, he moves away.

The lights dim, and a blue light moves over her body. A holographic representation far more complex than any medical textbook diagram appears.

Banner manipulates it for a few minutes, and then, goes over to a different table.

Clint’s knows how to balance a chequebook, do his laundry, cook basic meals, and fight. He’s been told he does complex math equations in his head when it comes to figuring out the trajectories for his arrows, but he’s always privately disagreed. He can visualise, and he knows how arrows work and what he needs to do to make them do what he wants.

He has enough common sense he can usually keep himself out of trouble, and thanks to Nat forcing him to look up an ungodly amount of words a few years ago when someone did a horrible job with the crossword puzzle in some newspaper, he has a fairly decent vocabulary.

Until now, he’s never had a problem not being the smart guy in the room. Before he met Natasha, he sometimes struggled with the fact being a killer seemed to be his only worth, but to him, protecting the geniuses who routinely come up with ideas to save lives and make the world better, being the eyes in the sky and protecting Tasha and the others while they carry out missions, and being able to make the people he cares about happy has always been enough.

Now, he wishes he understood medicine and more about anatomy than _here’s where I need to shoot to disable, here’s where I need to shoot to kill, and getting hit really hard on the head knocks out dictatorial alien, Norse gods_.

Did Tasha even mention the bar and beer earlier?

The lights come back on, and Banner frowns.

“Can I sit up, now?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Banner answers.

Once his fingers have linked back through hers, Clint demands, "What?"

“Uh-” Sighing, Banner takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

Reminding himself it’s not a good idea to antagonise the guy who can turn green and smash things, especially when Tasha can’t really fight against him on her best days, Clint manages to not yell, shake, and/or poke at Banner.

“It was a roofie,” Banner says. “It’s supposed- I’ve been reading about and wanting to study it, but obviously, not like this. The purpose isn’t unconsciousness. It’s a paralytic, and it induces enough physical arousal to provide lubrication and force the victim to-” He lets out another sigh.

“Is it out of my system?"

“Not completely. I strongly suggest you go to the hospital, Agent Romanov. Your unique physiology is doing something to it, but to hell if I can tell exactly what and to what extent. I just hope I haven’t somehow made it worse.”

Clint suddenly remembers he’s good at body disposal, too. _That’s good_ , he thinks. _Tasha hates it._ _Once whoever did this is found, I’ll handle it for her after one of us takes them out._

 _Because she will be okay_ , he firmly tells himself. Even before Loki came along, they’ve had arguments in the past about killing (there are times when it’d obviously be easier for him to just do it, but Tasha has always insisted on doing everything and anything short of compromising the mission to keep him from being the one to deliver the killing blow), but whatever she wants, he’ll happily go along with it. As much as he’d like to shoot whoever did this in every non-fatal but highly painful place there is before finally shooting an arrow through the eye, he can be just as happy watching her dole out justice and death.

“What do you need, Dr Banner,” Tasha asks in her sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“For you to go-”

“You can bring in Steve and Stark, but a hospital is the absolute last option,” Tasha declares.

Banner doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look murderous, either. “Jarvis, could you monitor Agent Romanov until further notice?”

“Yes, Dr Banner. Shall I give you routine updates?”

Banner looks over.

Tasha nods.

“Every hour, please,” Banner answers. “Right now, the best I can do is tell you to stay close by. I need to do more reading, and I might need to do more tests. I wouldn’t recommend eating or drinking anything but water. Try to avoid stress and physical exertion.”

“What about sleeping,” Tasha asks.

He suddenly notices how tired she looks, and he feels his stomach twist.

“With Jarvis monitoring you and someone nearby, that should be fine. To be honest, I think we’d both prefer it if you didn’t stay here.”

“I’ll keep my aids in,” Clint promises. Looking at Tasha, he asks, “What about walking?”

She gives him a _look_. “I can and will still walk."

“I’ll get a gurney and walk you both to wherever you want to go,” Banner says.

“My room?" As advanced as Jarvis is, Clint’s willing to bet Tasha’s bloody bed won’t be properly cleaned until a human does it; the robots Stark has running around aren’t as advanced.

Nodding, she squeezes his hand.  

…

Once they get to his room, Tasha kicks off the slippers and collapses stomach-down on his bed.

“Hey, doc, can you get one of my sweatshirts out of the closet?”

Putting the necklace in his nightstand, he lifts her up enough he can pull the bra over her head. Tossing it aside, he catches the sweatshirt Banner tosses him. Once he has it on her, he asks, “Shorts?”

Shaking her head, she mutters something.

He pulls the sweatshirt as far down as it will go down her legs before reaching under to slide them off. “That good, sweetheart?”

“Still hurt you,” she retorts. Then, with a nod, she curls closer towards him. “I hate it when you call me that.”

Shrugging off his shirt and tossing it and the shorts away, he pulls up the sheets and looks over. “Thanks, Dr Banner.”

Banner nods. “I’ll be in the lab.”

He turns out the lights on his way out.

Sighing, Clint eases down onto his stomach.

Tasha immediately wraps herself around him.

“I’m here,” he promises.

She doesn’t answer, and he realises she’s asleep.

…

In the morning, she looks much better.

 _Did you sleep,_ she signs.

“My aids are still in,” he reminds her. “How are you feeling?”

Yawning, she answers, “Better. Still a little groggy.”

She gets up, and he follows suit.

“Jarvis will tell you and Banner if I need anything.”

Watches her head to the bathroom, he observes her posture and steps are normal.

…

Once she comes back out and he has his turn in the bathroom, he sits down on the bed with her.

“I’m sorry,” she softly says.

He looks over. “What are you apologising for, Natasha?”

She glares, and he keeps his gaze steady.

The few times one of them has screwed up on a mission, they haven’t really held back. When he gets sick or hurt, though, or when he was dealing with the fallout of having Loki in his head, she’s always refused to let him apologise.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what,” he challenges. “There are people out there who hurt other people for no good reason. And sometimes, even the best manage to get hit. Stupid to apologise, you always tell me. Or is it getting me up? You should know how bad I’d taking things right now if you hadn’t.”

“For worrying you,” she says.

He’s not sure why, but he laughs.

Wrapping wraps an arm around her, he touches the necklace and buries his face in her hair.

“Aside from hiding it from me, there’s no way that could have been avoided,” he points out. “But it’s okay. I know you’re going to get through this, and when we find out who’s responsible, I’ll take care of the body.”

He feels her relax underneath him.

“If this gets bad, promise me you won’t do anything stupid, Clint.”

He remembers the pain in his wrist and his joke about seeking out an allergic reaction. “If you promise me you’ll worry about yourself and not me, it’s a deal.”

“Okay.”

There’s a knock.

“Come in,” she calls.

Banner enters the room. “Your system is almost clear. Are you up for some more tests?”

She nods, and Clint moves his head. 

…

An hour after they got up, Banner says, “As far as I can tell, your system is completely clean. Try eating a light breakfast. Jarvis, take the monitoring off Agent Romanov. Come back tomorrow. I want to do a few more days of testing.”

Nat slides off the table. “Thank you, Dr Banner.”

“Good luck with whatever you two are planning. Please, don’t involve me.”

He squeezes Banner’s shoulder. “Thanks, doc. Hey, get some sleep, okay?”

Banner nods. “Yes. I will.” 

…

After breakfast, he sits down on the couch, puts her feet on his lap, and asks, “Do you want me to hit the streets or start preparing the weapons?”

She gives him a vague smile before focusing back on her phone. “I think I’ve almost narrowed this down. Talk it through with me.”

“I can do that,” he agrees.


End file.
